I am April’s fool.

 

In April yellow comes to town in trumpets. Daffodils wake up the dead; forsythias resurrect. Magnolias tell you everything they know. You have to pay attention; they don’t speak very long. Apple trees declare the truth in white or pink to those who stop to listen, while cherry trees chatter pink to bees.

 

 

 

 

Earth swims round the sun, tilts her face to breathe. Each stroke draws her deeper into the sun-warmed waters.

 

 

The bitter winds of winter leave with just a sigh. Young winds come to play. They toss your hat or tug your coat like schoolboys out from school. They run through muddy fields all day, picking up the smell of sun and stones and flowers. When you open up your door, they forget to wipe their feet and track the smell of new-plowed earth throughout the house.

 

 

The sun calls “Ally, ally, in come free” and plants come out of hiding.

 

 

Trees wake up from winter with a thousand dreams of green, each one held in a tiny fist. Dreams come true in April.

 

 

Real estate in trees grows scarce. Birds move in to build.

 

 

 

April’s first day honors pranksters, hoaxsters, and tricksters. We crown the jester king. At the coronation, we pass the salt as sugar, disguise the truth as lies, and hold a mirror to our face until we see the child inside.

 

 

April makes more scents than other month, and when I see her face, I cannot hide my smile.

 

 

I am April’s fool.

 

 

 

 

 

(Click the word to find the givers of the daffodil, magnolia, plowed field, and nest of eggs.)